


Des Vampires à Paris

by onlyacoffee



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Drabble Collection, Gen, Useless Vampires, Vampires, this is pretty much it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:40:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3421415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyacoffee/pseuds/onlyacoffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vampires are real; in fact, there's quite a lot of them running around in 1830s Paris. </p><p>Maybe because <i>some vampires</i> can keep their fangs to themselves...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Courfeyrac & Feuilly (You'll become accustomed to things quickly)

**Author's Note:**

> this is a silly bunch of drabbles written from prompts back on tumblr. I'm always taking prompts - although my time of response might be slow. [You can find me on tumblr!](http://ravenclawfeuilly.tumblr.com)

It wasn’t the first time Feuilly had glared at Courfeyrac - actually, in their years of friendship, Feuilly had glared at Courfeyrac plenty of times.

Still, this time, Courfeyrac actually looked a little uncomfortable. (Was it guilt? No, couldn’t be - he stood by his decision, and he had told Feuilly. Enjolras did, too - he has nodded tightly and squeezed Courfeyrac’s shoulder before dissapearing and leaving Courfeyrac to deal with Feuilly alone, _the traitor_.)

"What?" Courfeyrac said, unable to stand the silence any longer.

"I’m angry," Feuilly said, which,  _obviously_. Courfeyrac threw his arms in the air and sighed.

"What would you have wanted me to do?"

"Mind your  _own_  business and leave me alone, maybe?”

Courfeyrac crossed his arms, his expression hardening uncharacteristically.

"That’s not fair," he said, and knowing he was right Feuilly turned away from him, determined to sulk. Only a few days, he told himself, feeling his resolve weakening by the moment. To - lick the wounds to his pride, maybe, at having been found out, and needing to be  _rescued_  - 

Damn it.

"I couldn't just let you die."

"Well, it wouldn’t have been my problem, would it?" Feuilly said, not looking up. "Now it is, though, because I’m useless at the workshop if I can’t go out during the day, and I’ve got no more candles."

Courfeyrac sat down next to him, and put a surprisingly still comforting arm around Feuilly’s back.

"You’ll become accustomed to things quickly," he said gently, and the promixity of his face to Feuilly’s shoulder indicated he knew Feuilly wouldn’t snap at him again.

Damn  _him_.

"Really, being a vampire is not that different to being human. I mean - there’s plenty of things to do at night. Like dancing!"

"I don’t dance."

"I’ll teach you, then. Did you really like garlic that much? I’ll tell you if you have something on your face. And you know you’re always welcome in any of our homes, right?"

Feuilly snorted, and unconsciously leaned closer against Courfeyrac.

"You owe me a new shirt," he said, voice oddly choked. "And a job. And a  _life_.”

"Somehow, I don’t think that’ll be much of a problem," Courfeyrac’s arm around him squeezed a little, and he had the audacity to  _wink_. “Trust me. You have  _plenty_  of life left with us.”


	2. Feuilly & Bahorel (how do I control my fangs?)

Feuilly had grown accustomed to reading while in the company of his friends (the backroom of the café was never fully empty of friendly faces); even more so now that he now needed to avoid going outside during the day, and the money he spent on candles had more than doubled.

So he could almost ignore Bahorel seated in the corner - reading? Probably not doing any work for his classes, anyway. Now that Feuilly knew Bahorel was at the very least a few decades older than he always claimed to be, he wasn’t sure how long it had truly been since Bahorel had set foot in an actual classroom.

 _Before_ , though, before this entire vampire mess, Feuilly had always preferred to read alone, safely hidden in his own rooms.

There was a reason for that.

”Damn it,” he cursed quietly as an unexpectedly sharp fang cut the fragile skin around his fingernail, drawing blood.

"Bahorel?" he called. "How do we control our fangs?" 

"We don’t," Bahorel replied without looking up.

”But…” the blood was dripping softly down the page now - an aesthetic Prouvaire would probably appreciate. (How they had managed to keep this from Prouvaire? No -  _why_  did they feel the need to keep this from him?)

"We don’t," Bahorel continued, guessing the rest of Feuilly’s sentence. "We just stop biting our nails like children and do something else with our hands."

Feuilly frowned. He should be surprised that vampires even bled - weren’t they supposed to be dead? And true enough, the blood was running more slowly than it used to do when he was alive, definitely more sluggishly. Interesting.

"I’m reading, though. It’s inconvenient. It’ll ruin the book."

"So sorry," Bahorel rolled his eyes. "Being a vampire is not a walk in the park, you know. I mean, not  _always_. But I’m not the one who turned you - take your complains to Courfeyac.”

Feuilly shook his head. He already had, thank you very much.

They fell into a more-or-less comfortable silence.

"Feuilly?" Bahorel called after a minute, finally looking up.

"Hm?"

"Are you  _trying_  to control your fangs?” 

"…maybe?"


	3. Courfeyrac & Combeferre (You killed me!)

At least, Combeferre noted with a sort of histerical panic, his nose had stopped bleeding; still, it was on, on - on principle -

“You killed me!” he said, putting as much outrage in his voice as he could, hoping Courfeyrac couldn’t notice the way it shook.

And Courfeyrac may already be dead, but Combeferre could swear he saw him pale even more - giving his face a sort of cadaver-like greyish hue that would certainly haunt Combeferre’s dreams.

If he ever slept again. Oh, God…

"I wanted to help you," Courfeyrac sounded absolutely stricken. "I couldn’t bear the thought of you being hurt and me not helping -"

"How is turning me into a vampire helping me?” Combeferre shook his head. ”I - it’s not helping, definitely Not. No - see? I can’t see a thing. Everything is blurry. Is it because of the dark? No, this might be shock -”

"Actually," Courfeyrac almost seemed hesitant. "It’s that, uh, you won’t need your glasses anymore."

Combeferre glared at him and pointedly kept his glasses on. Shock was a better explanation to his spinning head and confused thoughts anyway.

Courfeyrac groaned. 

"Enjolras and Feuilly are going to be so mad…"

"What? They know about this? How?" 

Courfeyrac nodded meekly. ”Well, you see…” he trailed off, letting the awkward silence speak for him.

This time, Combeferre managed an almost-calming breath.

"Courfeyrac. Who else," he gritted his teeth, winced at the odd new sensation.

"… Bahorel? Also, ah, Marius."

”Courfeyrac!”


	4. Courfeyrac & Bossuet & Marius

Bossuet leaned back against the wall and let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he had been holding. He neck stung and his teeth ached, but his chest didn’t anymore and that - was a surprisingly easy payment to accept for his life.

"Everything’s fine?" Courfeyrac sounded a little out of breath himself, but his hand on Bossuet’s didn’t feel as cold as it had only minutes before.

Had it really been minutes? For all Bossuet knew, it could have been hours, but the blood on Courfeyra’s face - god, around his mouth - wasn’t dry yet.

"Perfect, now," Bossuet grinned. "Thank you, my friend," he squeezed Courfeyrac’s hand.

Silence fell in the alleyway, broken only by the distant noise of a carriage passing down a nearby street.

"So," Bossuet started. "Vampires. They are real, uh?"

Courfeyrac chuckled, obviously relieved.

"Yes. It’s complicated."

"And you are one."

Courfeyrac’s smile didn’t drop.

"So are you, now," he said cheekily. "I’m sorry. Looks like your hair isn’t going to grow back, now." 

Bossuet scratched his head and shrugged.

"Eh, could be worse. Is anyone else…?"

"Bahorel, and Enjolras," Courfeyrac said, and it would be a lie to say Bossuet was surprised. "And Feuilly, and -" 

"Pontmercy!" Bossuet cried as the younger student materialized from the darkness - well, well.

"-yes, him too. Hello, Marius," Courfeyrac confirmed, but before he could say more, Pontmercy engulfed him in a powerful hug.

"I was scared," Pontmercy mumbled, his head pillowed on Courfeyrac’s shoulder. He sounded absolutely terrified, shaken, and so young, and Bossuet, filled with an almost fatherly urge, put an hopefully-comforting hand on his arm. Pontmercy’s eyes windened.

"Oh, God, Courfeyrac, what did you do." 

"Everything’s just fine," Bossuet offered hesitantly. "We’ll be fine, Courfeyrac knows what he’s doing." 

"No he does  _not_ ,” Pontmercy pulled himself straight, eyes flashing, and for the first time Bossuet noticed he was a good deal taller than both himself and Courfeyrac. ”Courfeyrac.” 

Courfeyrac seemed to shrink on himself, an almost comical expression on his round features. Bossuet took a step back, stunned.

"Ah- yes?" Courfeyrac’s infectious smile faltered.

"Do not ever do that again." 

Courfeyrac sighed, 

"But - he was going to die if I didn’t -" he pleaded.

"No," Pontmercy said firmly. "As your maker, I’m asking you. Do not ever do that again. Ever."

 _Oh_.

"Marius…" 

"Just…" Pontmercy sighed, back to his normal(ish) self again. "I don’t know how many times I need to tell you. Try to keep your fangs to yourself, Courfeyrac.  _Please_.” 


	5. Bossuet & Joly (I think my fangs are stuck)

Joly was in hysterics, tears running down his cheeks.

"Oh, oh, t-that is hilarious, I can’t believe..! Ah!" He hiccuped.

Bossuet was worried he might actually  _fly away_  - perhaps it was the weight of a lifetime of fearing mortal illness being lifted from his shoulders. Perhaps it was really just the ridiculousness of the situation - that half their friends were  _vampires_ , of all things, and that it included their  _mistress_ , and that they had both managed to hide their own  _situation_  from each other for a grand total of -

\- five hours. Bossuet’s jacket was still ripped from where the knife had hit him (and perhaps Bossuet’s own lifetime of misfortune was to make up for the fact that Courfeyrac would be there, at that one precious, life-changing moment, and would be able to grab Bossuet just before his consciousness faded forever.)

And, well. All’s well that ends well, Bossuet now believed. After all, Joly was still standing here, and apparently, vampires laughed just as loudly as humans did.

"Come on, Jollly," Bossuet said, incapable of keeping himself from smiling for very long. "Breathe - can you breathe?"

Joly raised his head and tried to nod, but another look at Bossuet’s fanged grin sent him back into pearls of laughter.

"You look  _ridiculous_!” he nearly threw himself out of his chair in his mirth. Bossuet, never one to feel insulted over anything, grabbed him before he could hurt himself, allowing Joly to muffle his hilarity on Bossuet’s shoulder.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the laughter stopped.

"Joly?" Bossuet asked. "Are you okay? Did you choke?"

"No," Joly slurred, voice oddly muffled. “‘ut - ‘ssuet."

"Yes, Jolllly?"

"Y’jacket’s f’ayed. I think m’ fangs a’  _stuck_.”

It was then Bossuet’s turn to laugh, and the pair collapsed to the floor - where they stayed, breathing hard and shaking their heads - once they had untangled their clothes and fangs - until Grantaire found them.


	6. Bahorel & Prouvaire (Can I touch them?)

"So," Prouvaire smiled, his crooked, impefect,  _human_  teeth glinting in the candle light. “How are things?”

Bahorel shruged in a  _very_  nonchalant manner, and took a sip of his coffee - learning to eat and drink human food was a hard trick to learn, but thankfully one he had mastered ages ago, as coffee tasted _amazing_. 

"Messy. Ridiculous, even. So - not much different from usual, I assure you," Bahorel reached across the table to pat the younger man’s hand.

"That’s not what Grantaire told me."

"Grantaire exagerates everything. He  _cannot_  be trusted to tell a story  _straight_.”

"Still. He said he saw Joly and Bossuet."

Bahorel laughed, and whistled. “Courfeyrac’s been busy!”

Prouvaire, however, seemed terribly upset by the confirmation of his friends’ new natures.

"So am I the only one left, then? Now they know Grantaire knows - but they still think I don’t. It’s exhausting, listening to Feuilly talk and pretend he can actually  _lie_. It’s so, so awkwardly painful. It makes me feel so  _burdened_.”

"Eh," Bahorel grinned. "We still need someone who seems normal enough. Otherwise people might get suspicious."

Prouvaire sighed loudly.

"Yes, I suppose, this responsibility must fall on me," he closed his eyes, long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, the perfect picture of afflicted resolve.

Bahorel took one more sip of his coffee, his fangs clicking against the porcelain mug. Prouvaire cracked one eye open and stared curiously at Bahorel’s mouth.

"Still, can I ask you for one simple, tiny little thing?"

"Anything," Bahorel nodded, honestly feeling a little bad for his friend.

"… Can I touch them?"


	7. Courfeyrac & Bossuet (Furniture)

"I actually try to keep curtains as far from candles as I can. Usually," Bossuet said, throwing a suspicious glance at the array of candles installed al over the apartment.

"Until an hour ago, you had no curtains at all, my poor eagle," Courfeyrac raised a very elegant eyebrow - funny, how being undead (‘alive again’, Enjolras had decided they should call themselves from now on) made everything seem more smooth. Graceful. Sensual, even. And Bossuet knew sensual.

"Yes, I realise that," he replied with a  raised eyebrow of his own - at at least he would have, if he still had eyebrows to raise. Did vampires’ hair keep growing? Would he ever have eyebrows again? Would Joly ever be able to look at his face again without laughing? "Which is why, before you brought this bloody adventure to my doorstep, I had just decided on keeping my next curtains as far from candles as possible. And from sources of heat as well. And light. Felines, too…"

Courfeyrac shrugged, and patted the aggressively red curtains he had just installed in front of the biggest window in Bossuet and Joly’s apartment. He’d acquired it quite quickly from Bahorel - actually, Bossuet now realised he’d seen the fabric before, on Bahorel’s chest. He groaned inwardly. Now he would think of the man everytime he sat down to relax after a long day - or night. 

"Actually, cats don’t like us, for some reason. A shame, but your new curtains should be safe from that kind of damage, at least."

Bossuet winced.

"Alas, poor Hermes…"

"Hermes?" Courfeyrac asked.

"Joly’s cat. I haven’t seen her since the day we became creatures of the night, actually."

"Ah," Courfeyrac clicked his tongue. "My condoleances. But maybe Prouvaire can take there of it."

"Her. And maybe," Bossuet frowned. "I still don’t like how we’re keeping him out of this, though. It feels - dishonest."

Courfeyrac looked a bit uncomfortable.

"Well. The less people know, the better for us."

"Courfeyrac, my friend. You bit Enjolras, Feuilly, Combeferre, and me. Even Pontmercy knows. Between your oversharing and Bahorel’s - well, Bahorel, I doubt our poet friend would be any kind of threat to our secrecy."

Courfeyrac blushed - the way vampires did, of course, which meant the skin of his cheeks turned a little purple.

"Yes, maybe. But he’d probably try to make us all sleep in coffins. Can you imagine? You kick and punch in your sleep, Lesgle, you’d wake up covered in bruises, and I can’t guarantee they’d heal as quickly."

Bossuet winced. It was an excellent point.

"Thought so," Courfeyrac nodded, obviously satisfied for now. "Now, let’s take this box. Obviously, your sheets are full of blood now - sorry about that, by the way - but  I managed to grab some sheets from my mistress a few days ago. Silk, obviously. I hope you don’t mind the colour black..?"


	8. Joly & Prouvaire (You came back!)

Joly had not felt like himself during the past few days.

Granted, in their situation,  _not_   _himself_  could mean a lot:  _not himself_ , because he hadn’t really attended his normal classes since sunlight now hurt his eyes and tickled his skin.  _Not himself_  because he hadn’t yet learned how to eat human food again.  _Not himself_  because he hadn’t been able to sleep.

 _Not himself_  because he had died and was a vampire, now, and after the first few giddy hours of feeling more alive than he had in - several minutes, he now felt strange, and drained, and lonely.

Oh, so lonely. 

Of course, Bossuet had been by his side almost constantly; but Bossuet had always been quicker to adapt to new situations than Joly, and he had eventually grown restless, scooped up in their tiny apartment, curtains drawn to keep any sunlight out. So, after five nights and six days, Joly let him fly off for as long as he wished, and he was currently visiting all the best cafés for vampires with Courfeyrac and Pontmercy as designated guides.

Which left Joly alone. Completely alone, since Hermes, his cat, had not been home since the night Joly had been bitten.

Joly sighed, again. Perphaps I should read over my medical text books again, he thought to himself, but just as he was about to rise and light one more candle, he heard a knock at the door.

Strange, his thought. It’s rather late for a social visit.

Cautiously - although he had to admit death and dangers didn’t scare him quite as much now as it had before - he opened the door -

\- to reveal a very tired and slightly annoyed-looking Jean Prouvaire, holding a small but fierce - and animated - cat in his arms.

"Hermes!" Joly exclaimed, opening his arms. The cat immediately jumped on Joly and started rubbing against his chest.

"Good evening you too, Jolllly," Prouvaire said, his habitual gentle expression returning to his face. "I believe this little friend wanted to see you."

Joly felt himself tear up from happiness.  _Good to know I can still cry_ , he thought. Hermes meowed, which made Joly laugh in return.

"Yes, yes," he said. "Thank you, Jehan, thank you so very much! But I thought-"

He stopped, hesitating.

"You thought?" Prouvaire cocked his head to the side. "You thought she was lost? No, she was quite well, I think. She looks well-fed, in any case."

"She does," Joly admitted, kissing her furry little head. "I’m very happy you found her. Thank you so much."

Prouvaire smiled.

"I’m glad. You are welcome, friend."

He paused, simply observing the warm reunion. Hermes continued purring. Tears were now running down Joly’s cheeks.

"Well," Prouvaire said softly after a moment. "I’ll be off then. See you soon, my friend."

And he walked away, still smiling, whistling a sunny little song as he walked back towards Bahorel’s house.


	9. Bahorel & Gavroche

"Do I lose my fangs, like sharks?" Gavroche said, running his tongue over his new teeth, drawing a little blood.

Bahorel laughed, a big, booming sound that had nothing to do with the serious, mysterious vampires from the movies Gavroche knew Éponine liked, and actually, sounded exactly like the Bahorel Gavroche had always known.

"Nah," Bahorel grinned, showing a row of sharp teeth more complete than it had ever been in life. "They grow back if you lose them in a fight or something, though."

Gavroche punched the air in victory. This was going to be  _awesome_.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are appreciated, and thank you for reading!


End file.
